Amos Hood
by SamAzoth42
Summary: A secret that has been hidden, lies that are told. Why does he steal from the rich and give to the needy this time? The great Grandson of Robin Hood tells his story.


Prologue

An eerie breeze blew that night. It wasn't a very cold night, in fact it was hardly considered night, as it was only five. But that breeze was a warning. A serious warning. Even an Englishman knew this as he ladled soup into his sick sister's dusty lips. The sister swallowed and winced as the pain shot from the lump on the side of her throat, "No more..." she whispered hoarsely.

"Fiamma," the Englishman shushed as he dipped the spoon back into the soup. "I know that it must hurt, but the doctor says that you need to eat more before the surgery." The brother looked adoringly at Fiamma.

The child laughed quietly and rubbed her stomach, "I'm not hungry any more, will you read me a story? The one under the bed?" The man set the bowl on the bedside table and stood up. He smiled then proceeded under the bed. There lay an old decaying copy of a well read book. Robin Hood. He picked it up and brushed the dirt off the cover. It really was old.

"How come this one? Why not one of the new ones that father brought at the market?" The man sighed sitting down and opening the cover, reading the inscription. It was in old script.

_Be and Believe_

"I like Mr. Hood, he has the same last name as us," the girl croaked. The man nodded and smiled, "It's almost like he was our distant relative. Alright, I'll read you this story, then will you go to bed?" Fiamma nodded slightly, holding her pinky up, "Pinky promise, Amos."

After entwining his pinky in hers, Amos opened the book and started to read by the light of a lone gas lamp.

Amos licked his finger to turn the page and glanced over at Fiamma, she was sound asleep. Kissing her forehead, he laid the book down on her bedside table and turned down her lamp.

He walked through the old house. His grandfather had built the house when he and his grandmother got married. It was made of stone and wood so it was plenty sturdy. There were old pictures and paintings that his father adored. The shelves that filled the empty spaces on the walls were filled to their brims with books.

Amos opened the door to the cellar. Then walked down the dark, spider-filled passage. When he reached the bottom step, he snapped his forefinger and thumb on a switch and the room filled with light. The room had glass containers of different colored fluids. There was a large table in the center of the dungeon-like room. On the table there were books, but not like the ones in the floor above. They were not fantastical fables or fairy tales, they did not tell the fate of a prince or a princess, not about pirates, or have some "life meaning" poems in them.

They were about Alchemy, about weapons, they were about money. At first glance this would seem sinful, but Amos had his reasons to have such unholy things in the house.

On the table closest to the stairs, there rests an acrylic mask with a crown of robin feathers.

* * *

Chapter One

I leaned back in my chair, sighing deeply. It was already late in the night and if I kept going at the rate in which I was going, then I would work all through the night and not have the strength to take care of Fiamma. I picked up the weapons book again, scanning the old pages I thought out loud, "Maybe a spring.". I looked at my modified version of the crossbow. The only noticeable difference was that it looked too small.

I frowned as I dug around in the junk heap. An old rusty screw pricked the tip of my finger, I cursed and pulled out my hand. A small crimson bubble of blood pooled at the tip of the finger. Shoving the traumatized finger in my mouth, I kicked the box down with my foot. I pushed around the odds and ends of the box. There were two springs, one was thick but small and the other was large and thin.

Taking the size of the crossbow into consideration and how it needed to be strong... I knelt down and picked up the small, thick one. I brushed the rest of the contents of the box away with my shoe.

Testing my new piece, I placed the spring into the compartment behind where the arrows are supposed to go. I took aim and shot. When I pulled the trigger, the machine pushed my whole body back, causing me to fall off my chair. I sat up. The arrow was jammed between two stone bricks. _That was superior. The "bounce back" would have to be worked on though,_I thought to myself as I scratched the back of my head. I could fix the recoil, but right now I had to go to bed. I got up and walked to the door, grabbing the key from its place on the wall, thats when the phone rang.


End file.
